Bread and Honey Sabbat
by Spitfireness
Summary: Hermione finds a secret gladea and joy therein. Then it gets complicated. Experimentaleven. Constructive criticism welcome.
1. Bread and Honey Sabbat

Author: Nes  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer: JKR is the root of all

**BREAD & HONEY SABBAT**

Hermione never ate bread and honey at her parents' home. The idea of saccharine goo squeezed out of a bear-shaped plastic container onto a plate of dry white toast was messy and unappetizing. But in the Hogwarts kitchens, she delighted in the chipped china bowl the House Elves provided and ran her knife's edge along the comb and split it open. Then she took fresh-baked bread and tore it into bits with her small hands, taking pieces and dipping them into the bowl of honey. She closed her eyes, chewed slowly , and licked the sweetness as it ran down her fingers. Sometimes, when she menstruated, she added tender roast ham to her ritual, winding the strips on a long fork and alternating bites of sweet with salt.  
  
Of course, she only enjoyed this luxury at night. Morning was for coffee and fruit, something she could eat while reading a book or glossing the past day's notes. The indulgence of bread and honey took two hands.  
  
And it was pure indulgence. She waited until the third weekend of seventh year before giving herself the gift. Of course, she had already been down to the kitchens with the boys and berated their hoarding of candy and pumpkin pasties, but the House Elves kept her secret. It had been a good week, two exams down and a birthday quietly celebrated.  
  
She felt warm and replete with contentment afterwards, feeling her way past the Great Hall in the dark. But when she turned into the next corridor, she could sense a difference. There was a soft, woodsy musk of leaves in the air. It was pleasant but most certainly did not belong inside the castle.   
  
Satisfaction gave way to curiosity, she put her ear to the door of classroom eleven. There was a slight rustling, like trees moving. Tentatively, she pushed the handle down and opened the door. With her first step, she felt a deep languor overtake her. Her school-regulation heels pushed into moss below her and she paused to take them off. She left them near the entrance and began to explore. Classroom eleven, she recalled, had briefly housed Divination during Firenze's tenure in fourth year; it was perfectly safe.  
  
Yes, there were trees moving softly. She could see slivers of the moon overhead through the thick green canopy. She moved further in, loosening her tie and brushing her hands against the rough bark of tree trunks. Sliding her hands up, she pulled away black ribbon restraining her hair and let it fall down past her shoulders. She kept moving through the slants of pale starlight, deeper into the forest.  
  
She emerged in a glade with a small pool of clear water surrounded by smooth rocks. It was calm and saw her reflection with only the slightest undulation. She sat on one of the rocks to remove her knee socks. It was cool and soothing against her bare legs. She stood barefoot, loving the feel of loam underfoot. She wanted to wade in the shallow silvery pool, but a hand on her arm stopped her.  
  
She had thought she was alone.  
  
Hermione looked up. He was taller than her and his eyes were blue as nothing else in this silver and brown wood was. She didn't remember him ever being this beautiful in class. Two small horns curled out of his black hair like wisps of smoke. His hand on her arm grew unbearably warm and she could feel the violent thrum of her heart with each second his touch remained. He was naked. She wanted him badly. Frightened by her want, she broke contact and stepped back; a leaf broke quietly beneath her step.  
  
He laughed, then smiled invitingly towards her and held out his arms. She went to him slowly. Holding back was an endeavor, she wanted to ask what he was doing and what this place was and where were his clothes and why but he brushed his mouth and her mouth and her questions remained quiescent. She leaned in, losing herself in the smooth of his skin. The embrace sent her shuddering for air as his hands traveled beneath her shirt and reaching for her breasts. She clung to him greedily; she wanted to crawl inside him. She twined her fingers about his neck, caressing his soft skin. Gasping, she pulled away to remove her shirt and threw it over his shoulder. Again, he laughed. This time, she did, too. She licked at his collarbone, pushing her head against his chest the way his erection pulsed against her belly. He sucked on her throat, up the line of her jaw to her ear before pressing his way downwards again. He lay them down in the moss. His hands were everywhere and then his hands were there perfectly, spreading her wetness carelessly. His mouth covered her when she let out her release in a low, heavy moan. And then he was above her and all she could do was crash her mouth against his mouth and try to get deeper inside.  
  
Hermione woke up the next morning, sore and happy. It had not been like that during the summer. Never with Viktor had she felt natural, both times she had been too preoccupied with mechanics and giving correctly. Last night, she had not even thought of artistry, too lost in craving.Today, she felt like like giving up her studies and becoming a professional wanton. She hadn't expected such a gift from Blaise Zabini, he was usually so reserved; then again, so was she.  
  
Smiling with the memory, she rolled onto her back but Blaise wasn't beside her. Instead, her school uniform and panties were folded in a neat pile and there were the horns from last night, revealed to be string and paper in the light of day.  
  
She dressed quietly and resolved not to regret, even if she did want another night like the one before, one would be enough. She would make it last.  
  
Professor Dumbledore was waiting for her outside the door to classroom eleven. His eyes were not twinkling. She went with him in her stocking feet, holding her shoes like a shield between them. Finally seated inside his office, the fire blazing in the hearth, he looked at her seriously.  
  
"Miss Granger, this school has rules for a reason. Head Girl you might have been, but you are not allowed to wander the corridors after curfew. I am afraid I have to remove you from your position."  
  
Hermione sat very still, hands in her lap. She waited, knowing she must have trespassed more seriously than a mere curfew offense.  
  
"Last night was the autumnal equinox. Although we don't recognize the occasion since the British Ministry reformed, the old ways still hold in certain parts of the Continent. Mr. Zabini is from one of those areas. For that reason, we provide him with a place to celebrate in the traditional fashion. You interrupted his observance at a point when he was, shall we say, vulnerable."  
  
She felt dangerously close to retching. "Are you saying I raped him?"  
  
"No, or you would find yourself expelled. Part of the Italian Sabbat ritual is the ingestion of certain substances that release a person from their inhibitions."  
  
"So he-"  
  
"Mr. Zabini has not made charges. Beyond that, you must settle the matter between yourselves, at his discretion. If Mr. Zabini chooses to forget the matter, I will enforce his decision."   
  
"Oh."  
  
"Now I must ask you to take these," he gestured to two vials on his desk. "Since the Sabbat began as fertility festival, it nullifies the usual charms and potions."  
  
"I'm on Muggle birth control," she told him but still drank the two offered potions.  
  
When she gave them back, his voice softened, "Miss Granger, I know you did not mean any harm. Be prepared to return to Gryffindor tower this afternoon; there will be no further punishment from the school."  
  
She ran to Moaning Myrtle's and threw up.  
  
Blaise was waiting for her outside. He was wearing his uniform and robes even though it was the weekend and there were no classes. She stared at him, wanting to apologize. He stared back, his black eyes hard and Hermione took his blank expression for anger.  
  
Finally he gave a curt nod and she followed him to an empty nook.  
  
She was careful to keep at least two feet between them. "I'm sorry-"  
  
"Save it. I know you are."  
  
His voice was rough but rich and Hermione remembered how beautiful he was last night in the glade by the pool. She tried not to wince as the image flashed in her mind.  
  
"Look, I know you didn't do it on purpose but if I'd wanted to share that with someone I barely know, I would've stayed in the dorm last night and fucked Draco. I'll try not to hold it against you, but it never would have happened if I'd been in control."  
  
"I am very sorry. Is there anything I can-"  
  
"There's not," he gave her an ugly smirk. "You weren't a virgin; I wouldn't have expected that. Good thing one of us wasn't."  
  
Hermione did wince at that.   
  
"I wasn't waiting for marriage or anything," he rolled his eyes. "Just stay away from me."  
  
He left her there; the taste of bread, honey, and Blaise sour in her mouth.

* * *

Author's notes: Okay (1) This was an experiment, it was going to be a PWP but I can't write smut and it turned into something else. (2) Didn't it turn into a nightmare? (3) I was thinking of making this into a three-parter, but I'm only writing a sequel if I can find the balls to do it. (4) I don't know what I'm doing and if you're going to yell, could you do it nicely? I'm fragile. (5) I never made a claim as to a "sabbat" in regards to anyone's religion. What Blaise does in his ritual is my invention and not intended to offend. 


	2. Ill Deeds, the Best of Intentions: Blais

Rating: R (It is, isn't it? Someone please help me out here.)  
A/N: Sequel to "Bread & Honey Sabbat"  
Summary: Logic dictated he could not blame her, but it did not stop him from feeling resentful. He felt uncomfortably close to loathing; usually, a feeling too intense for him to indulge at his most emotive. Therefore, Blaise resolved to meet Hermione.

**ILL DEEDS, THE BEST OF INTENTIONS**

The message came at breakfast two weeks later by an inconspicuous school owl. Medium weight ivory parchment of good quality, its straight lines betrayed the use of a bone folder. There was no ribbon and Blaise was further gratified to see there were no pretensions of a wax seal as so many Muggleborns eagerly adopted. Personally Blaise found wax seals messy and needless.  
  
_Wednesday. After dinner. Please._  
  
In all honesty, Blaise had expected her to contact him earlier; he was somewhat impressed by her restraint. At the very least, she was succinct. Four words, but he could still see mysteries. She had named a day but left the exact time to his discretion. Yet she had also failed to name a location; he supposed she would find him. Then there was also that final word, unadorned by question marks as if she knew expressive punctuation annoyed him and yet still able to convey a sincere plea. Her plain sincerity was effective, working where declarations of remorse and begging for forgiveness would not move him.  
  
He gave her a surreptitious look, secure in the fact that most of the school was unashamedly staring, too. Dumbledore had only named her replacement, he had not reported her demotion to prefect as a punishment and the student body was rife with rumors as to what had occurred. The leading theory among the Hufflepuffs was that she had chosen to step down in favor of more study time; the Ravenclaws decided she had been caught cheating on an exam but were only saying so quietly. The Slytherins were more outspoken and outrageous in their gossip but only because they weren't as intimidated by Potter and Weasley, who glared at anyone who so much as mentioned the demotion. Yet Blaise had noticed the exchange of glances between her two friends and knew she had told them nothing.  
  
This, of course, was as he expected. He liked to see things go his way, especially these days. Naturally, no one suspected his own involvement in the demotion. Many of the Slytherins knew he had spent the night out of dorms but Draco had only asked if Blaise had seen or heard anything suspect. If his lying was less polished than usual, only Reyna had noticed. Needless to say that Reyna didn't suspect the two events were connected and certainly the punishment did not fit the crime. She was a sweet girl, but he hadn't been interested in the sixth year for her cognitive assets. Though Reyna was classically beautiful, he couldn't say he was heartbroken. Besides the fact that he had initiated the breakup, two months of dating had changed her from being delightfully uncomplicated to demanding. He smirked; she had wanted a declaration, well, she had gotten one, if not the one she'd hoped for. Unfortunately, their breakup had been neglected by the Hogwarts rumor mill in favor of what was popularly (optimistically was perhaps the more appropriate adjective to describe his House) termed the first phase of Hermione Granger's downfall. In lieu of that attention, Reyna had taken to wearing mourning greys and sighing oppressively about the common room. He would meet Granger, if only to escape the impending dirge he was sure Reyna's melodramatic urges required.  
  
He cringed at the thought of what Reyna would do if she ever discovered his indiscretion. She would probably be moved to shrill fishwife shrieking. That had been another reason, not that he'd actually needed more than one, to end their liasion. He personally abhorred infidelity, people who could not control their libido were pathetic. He prided himself on the discipline to wait the five minutes it took to dump the now unwanted party before moving onto the newest object of desire. Even considering the influence of Mabon potion, Blaise was disappointed by the lapse of honor.  
  
Which, he thought self-deprecatingly, was an especially excellent philosophy to have in his current situation. Although Hermione Granger practiced fishwife shrieking daily, he found her physically attractive but, as he told her, he would never have given her his attentions under normal circumstances. It simply was not something he would have chosen for himself. He was too clever to be involved with someone like her. Yet here he was, unable to forget that night.  
  
Blaise was definitely out of sorts. Oh, he certainly wasn't harboring any romantic sentiment for her. Even the affection he'd been told a man usually held for his first was lacking. Rather, she stirred emotions that disturbed his usual cool reserve. And he didn't like it. Logic dictated he could not blame her, but it did not stop him from feeling resentful.  
  
Therefore, Blaise resolved to meet Hermione.  
  
When she was absent at supper on the appointed day, Blaise ate sparingly of steamed vegetables and did not tarry. He made towards the library and was not surprised when she passed him at an intersection. Without changing pace, he followed her to the seventh floor. When she doubled back, he ostensibly began to carefully study the nearby tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy but really he had his suspicions about their destination. Although Dumbledore's Army purported to be a secret society, word of the Room of Requirement had gotten around.  
  
Finally a door appeared and he followed her inside.  
  
When the door closed behind him, he had the sudden involuntary urge to wrench it back open and run. From the look on Granger's face, she was experiencing the same compulsion. Given that Blaise was better at hiding his feelings, he did not blink and she began to babble.  
  
"I wasn't sure this would work. I know some people have tried to use the Room for trysts and it refused to appear. I guess it thought our need was...sufficient."  
  
"And what exactly is our need," Blaise gestured vaguely towards the racks of neatly organized clamps, gags, chains, whips, rods, blades, and pincers. There was even a wheel and he thought he saw a pommel horse in a far corner. Blaise had been a virgin, not an innocent. He had a vague idea why Hermione required what was whimsically called a chastening salon in more sophisticated social circles. Despite her demotion, she felt culpable. He didn't think he would have claimed any penitence if their positions were reversed, she hadn't known he was drugged, after all. He knew he would have been amused if this situation didn't involve him personally but since it did, he could conjure nothing more than tenebrous detachment.  
  
In response, Hermione removed her robes and knelt before him on the bare floor. Her head was bowed and her hands were held behind her back. He could see the pale moon shape of her knees between her uniform skirt and kneesocks. It was the classic position of abasement and Blaise couldn't help but wonder exactly what trash she'd been reading in the Restricted Section. Or had she learned this from her lover? He didn't think so, she was trembling very slightly.  
  
She kept her head down. He had to admit she made a pretty picture, especially as she had been silent for a full two minutes. She was obviously offering restitution for his deflowering in kind. It made sense in a laughable and typically Gryffindor way. He imagined she wasn't overly pleased at her own actions, but determined to follow through out of a twisted sense of integrity. Never mind this was a scene from the worst sort of gothic novel, it made a certain amount of sense for him to accept. He was a seventeen year old male, his body undeniably liked her body and clearly remembered how it felt. Besides, this way much more convenient than initiating another into his personal life.  
  
Decision made, he stepped forward and took her hands. They were cold and he told her to warm them. He watched as she rubbed them together and then placed them at the front of his slacks. Lifting her eyes only enough to open the front without fumbling, she moved with expedience, if not grace.  
  
He looked the top of her head as she slid his pants down. He looked at the instrument-covered walls when she began to touch him. When she began to use her mouth and still he felt nothing, he stopped her. It was wrong. She was still doing things _to_ him and that wasn't what he wanted.  
  
Still looking at the walls, he finally saw a glint of silver that intrigued him. Without disturbing their strange tableau, he took his wand from his cloak pocket and summoned the slim blade to his hand. It was an elegant, satin-finished creation and the weight of it in his hands was comfortable from years of potions preparation.  
  
Shifting the stiletto into his left hand, he noticed that Hermione was looking at him.  
  
"Go ahead, I want you to."  
  
"Its not about you," he lied as he pushed her head back down. He didn't use force, he didn't need to.  
  
Her hair shone bright as it had in the moonlit glade and he moved it aside to bare her smooth neck. She began to move again, so slowly and it only felt better when he put the knife edge to her white tenderness. He grasped the yielding mass of her honey hair in his other fist and the knife slipped. The thinnest rivulet of blood bubbled up and Blaise was fascinated. He wasn't sure he'd done that on accident. His vision went bright with red, brown, silver, and white and-  
  
This made it real. Up until this moment, they were playing at something jaded aristos did in moldy dungeons to incite sensation but this made it something else.  
  
He jerked back, dropping the knife and nearly sending her sprawling. She caught herself and while she was on all fours, Blaise darted forward to pull her hair away again. The cut was long and shallow, he hadn't done much damage all told.  
  
Still he retrieved his wand and healed her so only a dark scar betrayed what they'd done. Stepping back, he fixed his slacks.  
  
"Wear your hair up tomorrow," he told her and left the room quickly.  
  
TBC

* * *

Questions, comments, and WTF's always entertained. I haven't posted this to slythcross or even my own lj because I'm not sure if I should. Perhaps I'll just wait until this part is done. And I also am still revising. This is still experimental, still a work in progress.  
  
Also, heh, I can't write smut so apparently I've decided to just fck my chosen ship up. I don't think is especially healthy or sexy. I really do like them. Really. I just can't help writing this.

Hermione's POV next.


End file.
